Phantom Psych Out
by TwiLyght Sans Sparkles
Summary: A ghost hybrid, a psychic detective, a ghost hunter's conference in Santa Barbara, and a teensy little murder investigation with Danny as the suspect. What can possibly go wrong?
1. Chapter 1

_Thanks to dragondancer123, my wonderful beta who also gave me the idea for this story! _

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October 24, 1985

Wind whispered through the suburbs, kicking up fallen leaves in its path. The dry leaves danced in miniature cyclones, skittering along the asphalt. The wind was warm, but strong, and a nearly full moon hung in an inky sky. It was everything a Halloween night _should_ be.

Except it wasn't Halloween.

Shawn Spencer shifted the garbage bag to his left hand so he could open the trash can lid with his right. Stopping there, he pouted a little. Such a perfect night. Not too warm, but cool enough to wear his gorilla suit without sweating too much. It was the kind of night where you could almost see ghosts blown about on the wind, witches shrieking down the streets, vampires haunting the graveyard. Too bad Halloween had to wait another week.

"Shawn? Are you gonna throw that bag out or just look at it?"

Shawn turned. His father was framed in the window, a tiny silhouette. "I think I'll just look at it, Dad."

"Throw it out and get back inside."

Shawn opened the lid but made no move to obey the rest of Henry's demand. Sure, it was a school night, and sure, he had homework to do, but it wasn't due until Friday. He had time. Besides, he wasn't about to waste a perfect pre-Halloween night with chores and homework. He'd rather daydream about his costume.

"Come _on_, Shawn. Stop dawdling and get it done."

Rolling his eyes, Shawn tossed the bag into the can, slammed the lid with a clang, and glanced back toward the house. Henry was gone, the curtains back in place over the window. He could stay out another minute before Dad yelled at him to get back inside. He gazed at the street again, picturing it on Halloween night. He'd look awesome in his gorilla suit—even better chasing Gus, the giant banana, from house to house. Shawn smiled. He could see it now; running up to one house after the other, breathlessly asking 'Have you seen a giant banana?' By far the best costume idea he'd ever had.

Shawn was about to head back inside when something moved, then disappeared into the corner of his vision. Squinting, he tried to make it out. A dog? No, too big to be a dog. He took a few steps forward until he got a good look. Just some lady, glowing faintly.

Glowing?

He glanced back at the house again. The curtains were still closed, his Dad still absent from the window. Probably cleaning up from dinner. Shawn had a minute or two to investigate. Besides, wasn't that what good detectives did?

Shawn started across the street, walking briskly. He saw the woman move and jogged the rest of the way. She darted through a neighbor's yard; Shawn hopped the fence and followed.

"Hold up!" he shouted, breaking into a run. She was just ahead. Another burst of speed and—

A strong hand caught his arm, and he nearly tripped. Shawn looked up.

Dad. And he didn't look happy.

"Shawn, what are you doing?"

Shawn panted. "Let _go_ of me!"

"Not until you tell me what the hell you're doing running through the neighbors' yard!"

"I saw a ghost, Dad! She was right there, and I ran after her and—"

"A ghost?" Henry rolled his eyes, straightened, and moved his hand from Shawn's wrist to his shoulder. "Come on. We're going inside."

"But Dad! She was right there!" He tried to break free, but Henry held him firm. He knelt down so he and Shawn were eye-to-eye.

"All right, Shawn. Let's run with this for a minute. How do you know that was a ghost? Hm?"

"She was glowing, and-and she ran right through the fence—"

"Oh, did she? And why do you think she did that?"

"Because….um…"

"Because that woman—whoever she was—wanted you to follow her. Now tell me, Shawn, do you really think following a stranger all over Santa Barbara is a good idea?"

"It is if you're a detective."

"Not if you're eight years old, it isn't!"

"But Dad! I know what I saw!"

"I don't care what you saw. What I care about is the fact that you were gonna follow her to God-knows-where _alone_! Shawn, you could've been killed!"

Henry paused to let that sink in, and it did. He stood, put a hand on Shawn's back, and gave him a gentle shove.

"Come on, Shawn. We're going home."

Shawn didn't argue. But he did pause to glance over his shoulder. All he saw was houses and neatly-kept yards, leaves and grass shaking in the wind.

_

* * *

_

Present Day

"Remind me again why we're here, Shawn?"

Shawn ducked around a passerby. "Because it's fun. Why else?"

"I was hoping for a little more reason than that."

"Oh, come on, Gus. Don't tell me you don't think these guys are hilarious."

"Not really." Gus glanced over his shoulder; as if afraid someone might be listening. "They take this stuff really seriously."

"I know. And that's what makes it so funny. A bunch of middle-aged dropouts all meeting up in Santa Barbara to celebrate Halloween a week early." He chuckled. "What's funnier than that?"

"A lot of things, Shawn. For one, most of these people have college degrees. _Doctorates_. That's more school than you'll ever have."

"Or want." Shawn grinned. "They give out doctorates in this stuff? Seriously?" He laughed again. "And I thought a degree in bagpiping was lame."

"They don't give degrees in bagpiping."

"Sure they do. And if I ever go back to school—which I won't—that's what I'll major in. Then I'll be Dr. Shawn Spencer, psychic detective and PhD holder in the Art of Bagpipes."

"That's the second worst plan I ever heard."

Shawn stopped and eyed Gus quizzically. "Really? Knowing me your whole life? What's the worst?"

Gus grabbed Shawn's arm and pulled him along. "Going to a ghost hunters' convention when you don't even _believe_ in ghosts."

"Well, at least I don't _say_ so."

"You just did."

"Did not."

"Did so." Gus halted midstride, and the couple behind him nearly ran into him. "Where are we going again?"

"The workshop in some conference room named after some dead guy. It's on…" He checked his brochure. "'Spectral Communication: Barriers between English and the Language of Fear.'" Shawn tugged Gus along like a child towing a parent into the matinee showing of _Barney Goes to Vegas. _

"That workshop sounds really lame."

"I know."

"Then why are we going to it?"

Shawn wrapped his arm around Gus' shoulder. "Because, Gus, there is far too little laughter in the world. So many people are obsessed with trivial things like job security and pharmaceuticals—"

"Pharmaceuticals are _not _trivial."

"Whatever. The point is, when we see someone giving the gift of laughter, we should support them, regardless the cost. Or level of stupidity."

"Is that why you went to see _Beverly Hills Ninja_ eight times in a row?"

"Hey, that movie was _awesome_. And here we are." He pulled Gus through the open door, cutting off further argument. They found two unclaimed chairs toward the center of the room, sat down, and waited for the speaker to arrive.

* * *

Danny Fenton felt lucky. He had, after all, just claimed a chair toward the back of the crowded John Paul Jones conference room without cheating—namely, walking through a wall or coming up through the floor. Not only that, but he'd made it through the first two hours of the Spectacle of Spectral Speculators and Speculation without a speck of trouble. Yes, Danny was indeed fortunate.

He felt no guilt over skipping his parents' first workshop. FentonWorks gadgets were the only ones he'd encountered that could actually detect him, let alone hurt him. Not that his Mom or Dad ever listened when the ghost detectors all but screamed his name, but it would still be nice to _not_ be revealed in the middle of a ghost hunters' conference.

Chatter died down as a small man took his place behind the podium. A stocking cap covered his red hair and his bow tie was slightly askew. Mismatched socks—one red with blue polka dots, the other green-and-orange plaid—peeked out from beneath the cuffs of his slacks. Had he been stocky rather than wire-thin, Danny would've been tempted to call him a leprechaun to his face.

"Good morning, everyone," he said with a quick smile. "Thank you for attending this workshop. It may end up being the most important hour in your life, because what you learn in this short time may one day _save_ your life."

An hour of learning how to bridge a nonexistent language barrier could save your life? Danny saw a few attendees lean forward and tried not to roll his eyes.

The speaker reached down and hefted a bulky briefcase onto the podium, flipped the latches and let it pop open. Half a dozen papers fluttered to the floor.

"Oops." He chuckled nervously and bent to retrieve them. Straightening, he shuffled them into a neat pile, looked for a place to set them and found none. He dropped them on the floor.

"So," he said, clearing his throat. "I'm here to talk to you today about the language barrier between humans and ghosts. As you probably know, communicating with ghosts can be…well, let's just say it can be difficult. Ghosts rarely say what they mean. Their words are often rich with double meaning—and when you find that hidden meaning, it can be pretty frightening."

Danny thought back to this morning in the hotel room. He'd wanted cornflakes and couldn't find them. His Mom didn't seem to have any trouble translating "Hey, we brought cornflakes to the hotel, right?" to something she could understand. She hadn't seemed nervous when he poured a larger-than-average bowl for himself, but maybe she'd just laughed out of fear.

Or maybe this guy was an idiot.

"I've made a list of common phrases you and I use," the speaker said, rifling through his briefcase. "Damn, where'd I put….here they are!" He held a stack of papers triumphantly, then began passing them out. "What we're going to do is analyze these phrases and think how a ghost might say them."

Danny raised his hand. He couldn't resist.

"Yes?" He seemed relieved to have a question—any question—and Danny felt a stab of guilt for what he was about to do.

"How do you know how a ghost might say these phrases? I mean, have you ever _met_ one?"

"Well, I…I haven't…haven't _met _any…certainly not the way you mean…but I _have_ heard them talk. I've seen them before. And let me tell you, they don't talk the way we do!"

There were a few chuckles. Danny tried again.

"But how do you know? How do you know 'Hey, give me a lift to the airport' didn't just mean 'Hey, give me a lift to the airport'?"

"Well, for one thing, ghosts don't ride in airplanes."

"How do you know?"

"Why would they need airplanes when they can fly on their own?"

Danny felt the other ghost hunters staring at him, but he was having too much fun to care. "Well, maybe an airplane is faster. How fast can they fly?"

"I don't know! I'm just a communicator."

"Have you ever _asked_ one if he'd rather take an airplane?"

The speaker huffed, planting one hand on his hip. "Listen, Mr…."

"Fenton. Danny Fenton."

He crossed his arms. "Well, Mr. Fenton, I don't know where you get your ideas, but I'd think your parents would teach you better."

"They did. They abandoned the whole 'same language, double meaning' thing six months ago. Turns out most ghosts just say what they mean."

"Perhaps the illustrious Jack and Maddie Fenton are wrong on this one." He leaned so hard on the word _illustrious_ that it sounded like an insult.

"Dude, we live in Amity Park. That place sees more ghosts in a day than you've seen in a year, probably. I think my parents know what they're talking about."

The leprechaun's eyes narrowed. "Well, maybe Jack and Maddie shouldn't have abandoned a perfectly good theory so soon. After all, I based my talk on their research."

Danny had to suppress a smirk. "Whatever you say, dude."

"All right then. Shall we?" Taking a quick, composing breath, the speaker marched back up the aisle. A young man with spiky brown hair turned in his seat and gave Danny a thumbs-up. Danny could only grin in reply.

The leprechaun took his place behind the podium. "Now, if you'll look at—" He stopped, gasped, sucked in a breath and let it out, panting.

A man in the front row half-stood from his chair. "Mister, are you all right?"

The speaker shook his head. His hand clutched his heart as he gasped.

"Someone call an ambulance!"

Twenty cell phones were pulled out of pockets and purses, Danny's among them. He frantically punched in the numbers.

"911, what's your emergency?"

"Hi, uh—there's a guy here and I-I think he's having a heart attack."

"Where are you?"

"The convention center, downtown. I'm at the ghost hunter's conference."

"Can you describe what he's doing?"

"He's, uh—" Danny forced himself to look up front, where the speaker had collapsed on the floor. A man held two fingers to the speaker's throat, looked up and shook his head.

"He's dead," Danny said. His voice seemed to echo in the room.

The brown-haired man stood to his feet and looked directly at Danny. "Tell that dispatcher to send the police," he said confidently, pausing to glance at the fallen speaker. "This man was murdered."

* * *

_Look at the review button. So pretty...so pretty you want to press it..._


	2. Chapter 2

It didn't take long for the police to show up. It took even less time for the two detectives to pinpoint Danny as the one who called 911, and therefore at the top of their list for questioning.

"Did you notice anything suspicious before the victim started convulsing?" Detective Lassiter asked, pen poised to jot down Danny's response.

"Like what?" Danny asked with a shrug.

"Any strange behavior, anyone looking nervous, anything that looked like it could possibly be poison?"

"No. I…I didn't see anything." Danny felt the back of his neck and looked away. The speaker's body had already been covered and carted off, and Danny was grateful. Fifteen minutes ago the speaker had been a bumbling leprechaun, giving a talk on theories his parents abandoned months before. Now he was dead, his body on its way to the coroner. It didn't seem possible.

Lassiter wrote that down. "Did you know Mr. Neely personally?'

"No. I-I only came because he based his talk on my parents' research."

"Uh-huh. Jack and Maddie Fenton, correct?"

"Yeah."

"And did they know about Mr. Neely's presentation?"

"Yeah, but they didn't think a whole lot of it. Kinda laughed it off. I mean, they abandoned the theory he used six months ago."

"Were they angry about his use of their research?"

Danny glanced up sharply. "No. They thought it was pretty funny, actually. But they weren't mad."

Lassiter nodded, scribbling in his notebook. "Out of curiosity, can you explain what would possess him to put a 7 in the middle of his name?"

"Uh…."

"It wards off ghosts, Lassie." Danny turned toward the voice. The brown-haired man sauntered forward.

"Spencer, what are you doing here?"

Spencer grinned, hands shoved in his pockets. "I had a vision of murder. And hot babes in Spandex. Given that powerful combination, it would take an army of fat men threatened with diet and exercise to stop me.

"Dude, you had a _what_?" Danny had learned from experience that in a police investigation, it was best to keep your questions to a minimum. But this Spencer didn't act like a cop, so he figured a question or two would be okay. Spencer grinned and offered his hand.

"Shawn Spencer, psychic detective."

"Cool!"

Lassiter rolled his eyes. "Okay, Spencer, you've had your fun, now it's time to move along."

"Can't move me along, Lassie. I'm a witness. You need me."

"I have all the information I need."

"Is that why you're questioning a thirteen-year-old kid?"

"I'm fifteen."

"Close enough."

A pretty blonde woman approached Lassiter, notebook in hand. "I questioned some of the people just outside the conference room when the victim fell, Carlton. None of them saw anything suspicious."

Danny couldn't hide a snicker. "Dude, his name is Carlton?"

Lassiter whirled. "You got a problem with that?'

"Uh, no. Sorry."

Sensing Danny's capitulation, Lassiter turned back to the matter at hand. "Did any of them explain why the victim put a 7 in the middle of his name?"

"No."

"Did you _ask_?'

She folded her arms. "No, Carlton, I didn't ask. I felt the details of the victim's death were more important than whether or not he had a number in his name."

Danny saw the storm brewing and cleared his throat. Three pair of eyes turned on him. "Uh, sorry to interrupt, but you could just ask my parents. They're right down the hall."

* * *

"It's just horrible."

Juliet O'Hara took a breath. "Did you hear anything beforehand?"

Maddie shook her head. "No. The conference just started today, and we didn't arrive until late last night."

"Did you know the victim at all?"

"No. I mean, he contacted us to ask permission to use our research, but we never met him in person."

Lassiter jumped in with a question of his own. "Did he show any signs of mental illness when you spoke with him?"

Juliet cast an icy glance at her partner. "What he means to say is….well…." She tried to think of a more delicate way to put it and failed.

Jack glanced at the briefcase in the corner. "I don't think he was insane. Superstitious, yes. And he wasn't very good at his job."

Juliet expected an outburst from Maddie, but she merely sighed. "Unfortunately, Jack is right. We wouldn't let him use our research at first because we abandoned that theory six months ago."

Lassiter waved his pen. "Your son mentioned that."

Jack's eyes widened and Maddie blanched. "You saw Danny?"

"Yes," Juliet said. "He was at the crime scene."

Lassiter regarded them curiously. "Was he not supposed to be?"

Maddie looked at her husband. "He said he'd come to ours!"

"He was running a little late, but he said he'd show up," Jack said. "What was he doing at that workshop?"

"He picked a charlatan over _us_?"

"Woah, woah, calm down." Juliet raised her hands. "Let's just focus on the questions, all right? You said Andr7ew Neely was superstitious. Can you define that?"

Maddie combed her red hair with her fingers, taking a deep breath. "Well….you saw the 7 in his name."

Juliet glanced at Lassiter. "Yes."

"There's an entire school of thought that believes the number 7 has….protective qualities."

"They think that if you keep it near you-in your name, for example," Jack added, "that it will ward off ghosts."

"But Jack and I disproved that theory almost a year ago!" Maddie sighed. "I don't know what he thought he'd gain from putting a number in his name." She stood. "If you don't have any more questions, I think we'll find our son."

* * *

Danny laughed. "Dude, that is so cool! Predict something else!"

Shawn put a hand to his temple and closed his eyes. "I'm sensing….anger. No, no-rage. Yes, helpless, burning rage, the kind that comes when Gus discovers someone has raided his drawer full of Skittles."

"That's _you_, Shawn. _I_ don't care about Skittles. _I_ am a mature adult."

"Yeah, that's what you said when I caught you watching _Sesame Street _this morning."

"I was between channels!"

Danny blinked. "I'm not really sure what to say about that."

"Don't say anything," Gus said. "Trust me."

"So. Back to the vision. Rage! Hot, burning rage! Yes, yes, it's very strong now-" His eyes snapped open. "Lassie's here."

The door opened and Lassiter entered.

"How do you do that?' Danny asked.

"I told you. I'm psychic."

Danny watched O'Hara follow her partner, holding the door open for….

Oh no.

His Mom entered, followed by his Dad. And they didn't look happy.

Gus leaned toward Shawn. "I don't think it was Lassie you sensed."

* * *

Jack and Maddie Fenton weren't perfect; they were usually late, Jack laughed too loud, and Maddie jumped to conclusions. But whatever you wanted to say about them, two facts remained clear; they were two of the best ghost hunters in the country, and they had a good sense of timing.

When they sat next to Danny, Jack on one side and Maddie on the other, Danny half-hoped they'd begin the lecture immediately. Instead, they stayed where they were, silently fuming. Throughout Lassiter's announcement that the convention center would be locked down for a few hours, Danny battled the urge to run away.

The announcement was much too short for Danny's liking. Then again, he reasoned, maybe it was better to just get it over with. Listen to whatever his parents had to say, apologize and move on.

He took a deep breath and looked up, bracing himself. Maddie met his gaze.

"We'll talk later."

Danny sighed. Of all the things she could have said, this was the worst.

* * *

"You should've called us!"

Danny stood, back against the wall of the vacant conference room, careful not to back into it. Nervous as he was, he didn't know if he could keep his powers under control long enough to not phase through the wall. He clasped his hands behind his back.

"I'm sorry, Mom. I know I should've called."

"Then why didn't you?"

"I…forgot."

Maddie paused, putting a hand on her hip. "You forgot? Danny, that speaker was murdered!"

"It's not like I knew he'd be murdered when I walked in!"

"But he was! Danny, that could've been you!"

Danny frowned. "Really?"

"Yes, really. You're our son, aren't you? A ghost hunter's son is as good a target as a ghost hunter."

"For _who_?"

"A ghost, of course," Jack said.

Danny held up both hands. "Whoa, whoa, wait a second. You think a ghost did it?"

"Who else would kill a ghost hunter?" Jack asked with a shrug.

"Um, another ghost hunter, maybe?"

Maddie lifted an eyebrow. "Where did you get _that _idea?"

"Shawn Spencer. He's psychic."

Jack and Maddie looked at each other. "Is that why the police wanted to question us?"

Oh no. What can of worms had he opened now?

"I don't know," Jack said. "Do you think the Santa Barbara PD would listen to a psychic?"

"I don't know, but if he's still around…."

"Unless he somehow got clearance, I'm sure he's still here."

"Let's go, then." At the door, Maddie turned and shook a finger at Danny. "We're not done here, young man."

Danny still couldn't help breathing a sigh of relief when the door clicked shut.

* * *

Shawn shoved the five-dollar bill into the vending machine. "Come on, come on…." The machine accepted the bill with a mechanical whirr. Shawn threw both hands into the air. "Yes!" He pressed a few buttons, and a small bag of Skittles fell from its slot.

Gus eyed the candy with disapproval. "Really, Shawn? Did you really need more Skittles?"

Shawn collected his Skittles and his change. "Of course I do. Skittles open the mind, expand the senses, make higher thinking possible. That's called enlightenment, my friend."

"That's called food coloring, Shawn. And it's been scientifically proven to cause cancer in rodents."

Shawn paused, his palm half-full of brightly colored candy. "Seriously?" He shrugged, tossing the Skittles into his mouth. "Good thing I'm not a rodent, then."

"Yeah, but rats and humans have a lot of physiological similarities. You could die."

"From eating Skittles? Doubt it." He shook another handful into his palm as they rounded a corner, nearly banging into a couple in hazmat suits.

"Sorry," Shawn said, then started off again. The woman caught his arm, and he recognized her then as Danny's mom.

"You're Shawn Spencer, aren't you?"

"Who wants to know?"

Maddie Fenton raised an eyebrow. "You're psychic. You tell me."

* * *

Maddie found an empty conference room a few steps away and pulled Shawn inside. Jack and Gus followed.

Jack wasted no time in getting to the point. "What makes you think a ghost hunter killed Andr7ew Neely?'

"The spirits told me. I'm sure your son told you I'm psychic?"

"He mentioned it."

Shawn leaned back against the wall. "What else did he mention?"

Jack leveled a serious gaze. "You tell me."

Crap. Shawn put a hand to his temple, furtively looking them over for a clue, any clue to what Danny had said. Finding none, he guessed.

With a sharp gasp, he pulled his hand away. "Nothing. That's why you're here, isn't it?" Jack and Maddie drew back slightly, and he continued. "You found us in a hurry. Didn't even finish lecturing your kid, did you?"

"Y-yes," Maddie said, glancing at her husband. "But that doesn't answer our original question."

"Well, like I said. I don't know. The spirits do. The spirits know all."

Jack leaned forward. "Who's going to win the Super-bowl?"

"They only tell me about murders."

"They're evil that way," Gus said.

Jack and Maddie glanced at each other. Shawn smiled a bit.

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to find a vending machine that doesn't charge three bucks for a bag of Skittles."

Jack sniffed. "Good luck with that."

* * *

The trouble with being stuck in a locked-down convention center was there was never enough to do. Going out among a bunch of ghost hunters seemed unwise though, so Danny made the most of it.

He left the conference room and checked both ways. No ghost hunters or cops, but there was probably a security camera somewhere. Suddenly vanishing from sight was bound to make someone suspicious, so he walked to the nearest window.

Santa Barbara was a nice-looking city, he had to admit. Palm trees rustled beneath a cloudless sky, brushing against red adobe rooftops. He smiled slightly. He could just imagine soaring above those rooftops, the wind in his hair and the sun at his back.

Something darted past the window at the same moment Danny's breath turned to mist. He was on his feet and at the window in an instant. Nothing but palm trees and red adobe.

Danny stumbled back a step, running his fingers through his hair. Should he shift into his ghost form and go after whoever it was? Or just stay here? If he went after the ghost, he might get caught…but if he stayed here, who could say what the ghost might do?

The sound of approaching footsteps made him jump. Someone was coming.

Danny turned from the window and quickly walked away. The ghost would have to wait.


	3. Chapter 3

"God, this is a mess."

"I'll say. Where are you? Why does your voice sound so echo-y?"

"I'm in the bathroom, Sam. It was the only place I could think of that didn't have security cameras." Danny poked his head through the stall door, saw the coast was clear, and sank to the floor. He rested his head against the wall. "Why couldn't I have stayed home with Jazz?"

"Hey, you're the one who wanted to go."

"Sort of."

"What do you mean?"

Danny sighed. "I didn't want them to feel bad, you know? Besides, a week off of school, chilling in California….what's better than that?"

"_Not_ getting involved in a murder investigation?"

"It's not like I _tried _to get involved." Danny checked under the stall door again. Still nothing. "So. Any ideas?"

"They don't think you're a suspect, do they?"

"No. I mean, Detective Lassiter might, but I don't think anyone else does. The cops seem to think it's a ghost hunter, Mom and Dad think it's a ghost, and meanwhile there's a ghost running around Santa Barbara, so I'm not sure who did it—"

"Wait, wait—there's another ghost there? Who?"

"I don't know. I just sensed one, that's all." He brightened. "Hey….maybe Shawn sensed the same thing I did!"

"Who's Shawn?"

"Shawn Spencer, psychic detective. He's awesome." Danny laughed. "Get this. He called Detective Lassiter _Lassie_."

"Okay…." She wasn't laughing.

"Maybe you just had to be there." The door opened, deafening in the empty bathroom. Danny jumped, froze, and turned invisible.

"Danny? You still there?"

Danny poked his head through the stall again. An overweight man in jeans and a lab coat stood at the sink. Danny glimpsed his reflection in the mirror, and though it wasn't a man he recognized, he had to admit he looked familiar.

"Danny?"

"Shh!"

The man spun around. "Who's there?"

Danny didn't move. The hunter couldn't see him. If the hunter couldn't see him, the hunter couldn't do anything.

The man withdrew a small black device from the pocket of his lab coat. Danny got a cold feeling in the pit of his stomach. A button was pressed, and the device chimed. "Ghost detected," a computerized voice announced. "Location, fifteen feet ahead."

A ghost detector.

"Is someone there?" Sam asked.

Danny didn't answer. The hunter took a few steps forward.

"Ghost detected. Location, twelve feet ahead."

Frantically, Danny examined the stall. The wall behind him led to another hallway—and anyone might be in it. Going through either wall wouldn't get him away from the ghost detector. That left either the roof or the floor, and the hunter might have a weapon. If Danny went through the roof, would he shoot?

The convention center didn't have a basement, as far as he knew, but it was his only option. Clutching his cell phone, Danny phased through the floor.

* * *

The basement was dark, but Danny didn't dare use his ghost ray. Security cameras might be watching.

"Danny, what was that?"

"I'll call you back, okay? I can't really talk right now." He hung up before she could protest, stumbling over a bulky_ something_ in his path. Pulling himself up, he felt the side of it. A box, filled with something heavy.

He made his way through the basement, phasing through the obstacles. He had to find a safe place to resurface. He had to find Shawn.

* * *

"Have you seen Danny?"

Lassiter just stared. "Who?"

"Our son, Danny. Have you seen him?"

Juliet touched Maddie's arm. "Why? When did you see him last, Mrs. Fenton?"

"It's been twenty minutes and he still hasn't come back."

"Well, we can't classify him as a missing person until it's been at least twenty-four hours—"

Juliet threw Lassiter a dirty look, and then gave Maddie a reassuring one. "The entire convention center is locked down, Mrs. Fenton. He can't have gone far."

"Well, with a vengeful ghost on the loose, I…." She swallowed. "I'm going to see if I can find him. Excuse me."

"I'll go with you." Juliet followed her out the door, ignoring Lassiter's pointed glare.

* * *

A few minutes after Juliet and Maddie left, Lassiter's cell phone rang. A neutral-sounding chime, but Jack gave him a quizzical look.

"That's your ringtone?"

"Yes. It's professional."

"You need something unprofessional. Like a frog singing 'Ring a ling ling, ring a ling—"

With a sigh, Lassiter answered it. "Yes? Who is this?"

"It's your pal, Woody! Well, maybe not pal, but I do tell you things I wouldn't tell my wife, if you know what I mean."

Lassiter sighed again. Why couldn't the Santa Barbara PD have sprung for a normal coroner? "All right, what is it?"

"Well, I've been examining Andr7ew Neely's body. Skinny little thing. Did he ever eat?"

"Come on, man. Spit it out."

"I found something interesting."

"Wait—documentary interesting or _X Files _interesting?"

"_X Files_ interesting. Actually, this makes the _X Files_ look like a yarn documentary."

* * *

Danny picked his way through the basement, wishing he had a map. He needed to resurface at just the right place—preferably a hallway or stairwell that was nowhere near a working ghost detector.

He looked up at the ceiling, trying to judge where he was by a clue, any clue. But the ceiling looked the same as the rest of the basement, and he still had no idea where he was.

Suddenly, his ghost sense went off.

Danny spun, eyes peeled for the ghost, but the dark basement revealed nothing. He walked another few steps, and it stopped.

Danny backed up, and it went off again. There was someone in the basement with him, but only in that one spot.

Or maybe _above_ the basement?

He looked up at the ceiling again. If there was another ghost in the convention center, one of the ghost hunters could surely handle it.

But what if the hunter that found the ghost was another Andr7ew Neely? What if the ghost was someone genuinely dangerous, like Spectra or—dare he think it?—Plasmius? A hunter who fought with outdated theories and inadequate technology wouldn't stand a chance against a ghost like them.

Then again, whoever it was had managed to hide for this long. The ghost had been smart enough to fool him. Danny shuddered. What if the hunters caught _him_ instead?

His heart pounded. He had to protect those hunters….whether or not they wanted to dissect him.

Taking a deep breath, he shifted into his ghost form. If he was going to get caught, he'd do it as Danny Phantom.

* * *

Maddie's wristwatch beeped as she and Juliet passed a conference room. "Hm…that's odd."

"What is it? Why's your watch beeping like that?"

"It has a built-in ghost detector," she said offhandedly. "But you'd think a ghost would know better than to show up in a conference full of hunters…." She tried the door and found it locked. "Oh, come on!"

* * *

The first thing Danny saw as he surfaced was the side of a cardboard box. As he came through the floor, the most obvious thing he noticed was the lack of things to see. Just an empty room with a cardboard box.

He also noticed his ghost sense was still going off.

Danny barely had time to register this before someone pounded at the door. He heard O'Hara's muffled voice call out, "Police! Unlock this door!"

Danny froze. She beat the door again.

"Come on, open up! We're on lockdown."

Danny could only stare at the door. If he opened up, she'd see him. Then again, the SBPD thought the murderer was a hunter. O'Hara probably didn't even believe in ghosts. What did it matter if she saw a skinny teenage boy with white hair and impossibly green eyes?

"I know there's a ghost in there."

The voice sent a chill down Danny's spine.

_Mom._

"Well, someone is, ghost or not." O'Hara again. Then, louder: "Open the door. It's a security issue."

Now Danny heard it: a muffled beeping, the same sound the ghost detectors made when he got too close.

In a split second, Danny had dropped through the floor and out of range.

* * *

"Wait—so you're saying it's poison?"

"A very potent variety I've never seen before. In fact, I've never seen anything like it."

"Describe it for me."

"Well, it behaves a bit like cyanide—which would account for what your little friend saw when he called the dispatcher—but there's something else that I can't quite place…." He trailed off.

"Try."

"I can't." The coroner laughed. "That's the problem! I can't place it. It doesn't match any type of poison on record. Come to think of it, it doesn't match any known substance_._"

"Wait—what?"

"I'm saying that this poison contains trace amounts of a substance that isn't known to humans."

Lassiter rolled his eyes. "Oh, come on. You're not saying—" He glanced at Jack, standing a few feet away, and lowered his voice. "You're not saying it was something…supernatural?"

"I don't know, Detective. You know any ghosts with motive for murder?"

* * *

Danny stayed in the basement for as long as he could. It felt like hours, but he knew it was likely only a few minutes before he judged it safe to resurface. He wasn't quite sure where he was, but knew he had to be a considerable distance from his Mom and Detective O'Hara. Danny Fenton had been missing too long, and his parents—not to mention the police—were bound to be suspicious.

Breathing a quick prayer, he leapt through the ceiling.

* * *

"I'm telling you, Gus, conventions are more interesting when they're on lockdown."

"Maybe. But it's giving me the creeps."

"Oh, come on. You've been locked in a room full of potential murderers before."

"Still. It's creepy."

Shawn laughed. "Don't tell me you're afraid of the ghosts." Gus didn't respond. Shawn stopped walking. "You totally are, aren't you?"

"No, I'm not."

"Admit it! You're afraid of something that doesn't exist because you're in a room full of crazies who think they do." He resumed walking. "It's Barney the Dinosaur all over again."

Gus hurried to keep up. "I was_ never_ afraid of Barney, Shawn."

"Yeah, yeah. That's not what your dad said."

"Traitor."

"Hey, he's the one who had to have the upholstery cleaned after you peed yourself."

"I sat in a puddle!"

Shawn was about to reply when a white-haired boy came up through the floor several yards ahead.

"Did that kid just—"

Shawn just stared. "I—I don't know."

The boy glanced around, floating a few inches above the floor. Shawn wondered if he should run away.

The boy stopped, looked straight at them.

"I think he sees us," Gus whispered.

The boy floated toward them. Shawn's feet remained rooted to the floor as the boy stopped, checked over his shoulder, and looked at Shawn through bright green eyes.

"You guys have got to help me," he said. "They're gonna kill me."


	4. Chapter 4

_Gah...sorry this chapter took so long, folks. I've been super busy with finals and everything-but I got all A's, so that made me happy. So did the last few episodes of _Psych.

* * *

Danny's heart pounded as he met Shawn's gaze. "I need your help. They're gonna kill me."

He wasn't sure what to expect as several long seconds passed. Hesitation on Shawn's part, certainly. The detective would ask for clarification, maybe identification. Actually, the last one was almost a given. Not that answering the question 'Who are you?' would be a problem. Still, 'I'm Danny Phantom, half-ghost,' seemed too simplistic. He tried to think of a more eloquent way to phrase it.

He was still working on the wording when Shawn and Gus screamed, hands up as though to shield themselves from him.

Danny stared. "Uh, I….I'm not gonna hurt you…."

The screams rose in pitch until Danny was reminded of a grade-school girl. He stepped forward, motioning for them to quiet down. "Guys, guys…I-I just need your help." He glanced behind him. Someone had to be hearing this.

He turned back to the two detectives just in time to see them take off down the hallway.

Heaving a sigh, he took to the air and flew off after them.

* * *

Shawn jiggled the handle of the first door they came to. Locked.

He threw himself at another, shaking the handle frantically. Also locked.

"Who the hell locked all the doors?" Gus wanted to know.

Shawn tried another, then listened. He heard a soft _whoosh_, like a breeze, then a quiet _thud._

Gus squeezed his eyes shut. "Please tell me he isn't right behind us."

Shawn turned, slowly, heart pounding.

The white-haired boy stood in front of him.

"Uh, guys? No need to run. I mean, it's not like you've never seen a ghost before, right?"

Shawn froze. "Y-you're not a ghost."

The boy chuckled in disbelief. "I'm pretty sure I am."

"If you're a ghost, why are you at a ghost hunter's conference?'

"That's kind of a long story. See, I—"

His guard was down, if only slightly. Shawn slipped past him, into the open hallway, and ran for his life.

Gus came up beside, him, panting. "This is crazy, Shawn! He's just a kid!"

"Yeah, a kid who can fly and walk through walls!"

"If he can walk through walls, why are we even running away?"

"You got a better idea?" Skidding around a corner, he caught a glimpse of two women up ahead, staring intently at a conference room door. As he drew closer, they came into view. Juliet O'Hara and Maddie Fenton.

Shawn smiled. He couldn't think of anyone more perfect.

* * *

Juliet took a few steps back, leg poised to kick the door down.

"Jules! Look out!"

She turned just in time to see Shawn barreling down the hallway, Gus close behind.

"Shawn? What're you—"

Juliet barely had time to duck out of the way before Shawn ran past her, almost clipping her arm.

"What the hell was _that_?"

Maddie took off after the detectives, Juliet following.

"Mrs. Fenton, what _was_ that?"

"That? _That _was a ghost, Detective. I'd know him anywhere." She tapped a button on her watch. A voice replaced the frantic beeping. "Ghost detected. Distance, forty feet. Forty-five feet. Fifty feet."

Maddie looked at Juliet. "You might want to call for backup.

* * *

The men's restroom appeared like a beacon in the mist, the white outlined figure a symbol of hope. Surely that door wouldn't be locked. Another burst of speed and Shawn reached the door, flung it open, and ran inside. He paused, hands on his knees, panting.

"He's still coming, Shawn!"

Shawn listened. He couldn't hear anything, but then again, maybe ghosts didn't make much sound. He ran to one of the stalls, motioned Gus inside, and slammed the door shut with a clang. Shawn slid the bolt into place and peered out through a crack.

Gus tried to inch his way toward the front of the stall and couldn't. "I thought he could walk through walls. How is this gonna help us?"

Shawn kept watching through the crack. Still no sign of the boy. "Dude, the bathroom is _sacred_," he whispered. "No man crashes in on another man's space."

"Isn't that what_ we're_ doing?" Gus whispered back.

"We're hiding. That's different."

"How is it different, Shawn? It's the exact same thing!"

There was another soft thud, followed by a now-familiar voice. "Guys? I know you're in here."

"We shouldn't have hidden here!" Gus hissed.

Shawn shot him a glare. "I didn't hear you come up with a better idea!"

The boy came into view, a tiny sliver of black and white. "Come on, Shawn, please? I just wanted to talk."

"You better go out there."

"With _him_? No way!"

"He _knows_ you! Just go out there!"

Shawn shook his head no.

Gus nodded yes.

Shawn shook his head again.

Gus reached over Shawn's shoulder and undid the latch, then gave him a shove. Shawn stumbled out onto the tile. The boy stood there, impassive, staring with bright green eyes.

Shawn regained his balance and stood a little straighter. "What do you want with us, oh being of….whatever sort of substance you ghosts are made of?"

The boy took a breath. "I need your help."

"Help with what?"

Just then, someone pounded at the door. "Shawn? You in there?"

The boy glanced at the door, and then took a step forward. Shawn instinctively stepped back. "Like I said, they're gonna kill me."

"Who's gonna kill you?"

"The ghost hunters. They—"

Juliet pounded at the door again. "Open up, Shawn."

The boy swallowed. "I gotta go. Just tell them….I don't know who killed Andr7ew Neely, either."

With that, he turned and walked through the far wall. Shawn could only stare as Juliet knocked again.

Swallowing, he opened the door. Juliet craned her neck to look past him. "Shawn, who's in there?"

Shawn forced a smile. "Just me and Gus."

"Open the door."

He did, and she stepped inside, gun drawn. "Police! Come out with your hands up!"

Gus came out of the stall, hands in the air. Juliet frowned at the other stalls. "Is that everyone?"

Shawn swallowed. "It is now."

* * *

The door to the conference room burst open, and Lassiter spun around, gun drawn. The woman put her shaking hands in the air. Lassiter looked her over—lab coat, no weapon, tear-streaked face. He lowered his gun.

"What is it, Ma'am?"

The hunter swallowed. "Sh-she's in the bathroom—I swear I just-just walked in and saw her—"

Lassiter holstered his gun and came forward. "Who's in the bathroom? Slow down and try telling me again."

She took a breath. "Her-her name's Katie. Katie Petrinovich."

* * *

Seconds after walking through the wall, Danny was assaulted with pink. Pink tile, pink countertop—way too much pink for anything but the women's restroom. But it wasn't the inherent awkwardness of walking into the girls' bathroom that froze him in his tracks.

The twenty-something woman, lying against the blood-streaked wall, eyes fixed in a blank stare was what stopped him.

Danny stumbled back, breathing fast. Murdered. She was murdered.

His mind raced. How did this happen? How could the killer strike again so quickly? He gulped, searching for a way out that wouldn't send him into a detective's—or a hunter's—waiting arms.

The basement. Yes, of course. As far as he was concerned, the basement was neutral ground, the closest thing to a safe haven he had. Once he found a safe place to resurface, he'd simply transform back into Danny Fenton, find his parents, and hide in the crowd. Let the police handle this. They could better interpret the blood smears, the wounds on her face, the burn marks covering the wall and her clothes.

Burn marks?

Danny blinked, forcing himself to move in for a closer look. The wall behind her had been scorched, as if by a flamethrower, but her clothes were mostly unharmed. Her shirt had been singed in a few places around the low-cut neckline and sleeves. A few small burns streaked her face. No flamethrower would have been this gentle. The only weapon he'd seen behave this way was a ghost ray.

A ghost ray. His parents were right. But which ghost? Who would be stupid enough to attack a ghost hunter's convention, yet smart enough to escape without getting caught?

Danny had barely begun to consider the possibilities when the door crashed open.

Detective Lassiter pointed his gun at Danny. "Police! Put your hands in the air!"

Danny scrambled to his feet, hands over his head. "Dude, this isn't what it looks like!"

"Oh yeah? Well, you're under arrest. Stay where you are."

He stepped back. "I know this looks bad, but I swear it isn't what it looks like."

"I said stay where you are!"

Danny took another step back.

"Stop right now, or I _will_ shoot you!"

Danny longed to cooperate. The SBPD seemed pretty reasonable, the type of people who would weigh all evidence and options before reaching a decision. He had a fleeting thought. If given the chance to explain himself—especially to Detective O'Hara, who seemed nicest—he'd be questioned and released within minutes.

But he'd been down this road before—and that road had taken him directly to prison. And that was just for trespassing. Murder was a thousand times worse.

He had no choice.

Danny closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and did the only thing he could.

* * *

Lassiter kept his gun trained on the boy, watching in amazement as he slipped through the floor. He blinked, and the boy was gone. Sank right through the floor.

Hearing the commotion, O'Hara appeared at his side. She stared at the spot where the boy had disappeared. Had she seen it too? "What the hell was that?"

Lassiter lowered his weapon but didn't holster it. "I don't know, but I think we have our first suspect."


	5. Chapter 5

_I don't know if words can express how sorry I am for the long hiatus. I've wanted to get back to this story, but when you combine writer's block with a semi-massive crisis of confidence, you get a recipe for a dead fic. Thanks to everyone who bugged me to get back to this story, and to my wonderful beta, dragondancer123. _

* * *

Katie Petrinovich was loaded onto a gurney and covered with a sheet. Men in dark jackets with CORONER stenciled in white wheeled her into the back of a van, while uniformed officers kept the crowd at bay. Gus thought their presence was more for show than necessity; a palpable tension had settled over the crowd. One thought screamed through the silence, and Gus could almost hear it: _What if I'm next? _

Gus nudged his friend. "Let's go, Shawn."

"Go _where_? This place is still on lockdown."

"I don't know. Lassie will probably let us out."

"No way, man."

"We could ask."

Gus couldn't tell if Shawn was listening or not. He watched intently as Katie's arm slipped off the gurney, her hand and charm bracelet dangling. One of the coroners slipped it back under the sheet. Shawn turned to Gus, "Dude! Did you see that?"

"See what?"

"Her arm."

"I saw her arm, Shawn. It looked dead."

"No, no, what was _on_ her arm. The charm bracelet, there were seven charms on it."

"So? Lots of girls have charm bracelets."

"Yeah, but the charms…."

Gus backed up a step, hands in the air. "Oh no, Shawn, you are _not_ dragging me into this."

Shawn gave his friend an incredulous look. "Drag you into what? I wasn't dragging you into anything, 'cept maybe the taco place across the street."

"If we ever get this place off lockdown." The instant he'd said the words, Gus regretted them.

"Exactly! We've got to get this place off lockdown so we can enjoy the delicious tacos sold from a cart by a man named Pedro."

"His name is _not_ Pedro."

"Sure it is. If I sold tacos from a cart, I would totally call myself Pedro." Shawn watched the van pull away from the curb, then turned from the window. "C'mon."

* * *

Danny spent more time than planned in the basement, simply because he hadn't thought of a workable plan. He couldn't return to the ghost hunters, but he couldn't stay in the basement. Technically, he _could_, but there was nothing he could do down there, surrounded by odds and ends. And with two dead bodies and a malevolent ghost on the loose, his parents would most likely be frantic.

His parents. In his shock over seeing one speaker die and finding another dead, he hadn't considered who the killer's next victim might be.

Danny sank onto a chair, cold dread working its way through his veins. It all made sense. The killer—a ghost, of course—began with Adr7ew Neely and Katie Petrinovich because they were easy targets. Those poor incompetent souls hadn't stood a chance against Vlad or Spectra or whoever this killer was.

And now that the killer had a few victories under his belt, he wouldn't stop.

Danny stood, heart pounding, and shifted into his ghost form. His parents needed him.

* * *

Maddie Fenton rested her folded arms on the table. Her husband sat across from her, chin in his hands, and between them, her watch. Two uniformed officers stood at the door; Maddie knew another two stood outside. To keep them safe, according to Detective Lassiter. Maddie had no idea how crowding all the ghost hunters into a few rooms and posting officers at the doors would keep them safe from a killer who could walk through walls, but then again, this was the police they were talking about. In all but a few cities, most police officers were notorious skeptics.

"This doesn't make sense, Jack."

Jack said nothing, eyes on the watch.

"There's a ghost on the loose. Shouldn't it have gone off by now?"

"Not if the ghost detector isn't working."

Maddie turned in her seat and glared. The speaker, a middle-aged man in a lab coat, shrugged.

"I mean, come _on. _Your watch working or not?"

"It's working just fine," Maddie said tersely.

"And even if it's not," Jack added, "I'm sure there are plenty more ghost detectors in here. We'll be fine."

"Oh, really?" The man stood. "And how many ghost detectors were there when Andr7ew Neely was killed?"

A sniffle turned Maddie's attention to the corner. A young blonde woman wiped her eyes with the back of her hand "Andr7ew didn't wear a ghost detector."

"Yeah, but there must've been others in there, right?" He spread his palm and offered the question to the rest of the room. "Right?"

A few ghost hunters nodded with murmurs of assent. The ghost hunter tapped his watch. "Had this on me the whole time, and it didn't beep once."

"It wasn't a FentonWorks watch, was it?"

Jack's question silenced the murmurs. He looked at the ghost hunter. "Well, was it? Because if it was, I can guarantee there was no ghost in that room."

The man glared. "Well, you had better revise that guarantee of yours, 'cause this watch didn't pick up a single ghost."

Maddie rolled her eyes. "But if there wasn't a ghost in there in the first place—"

"Oh yeah?" The same blonde woman sniffled and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "What else could've killed Andr7ew?"

The hunter waved his hand as if that settled the matter. "You see? Obviously, you and that husband of yours need to put a little more effort into those watches, 'cause the ones you've got aren't working."

"My watch was working just fine half an hour ago!"

"Yeah? Prove it."

Maddie was about to, but a beep from her watch cut her off. She turned and snatched it from the table as the beeps became more frantic, and laughed. "You call that 'not working'?"

Jack leapt to his feet and hurried around the table, staring over her shoulder. "Where is it? Where's the ghost?"

She stared at the tiny red dot on the display. "According to this tracer, it's…."

A cold hand closed around her ankle. Maddie barely had time to scream before she felt herself falling, pulled through the floor.

* * *

Only when his parents had joined him in the basement did Danny wonder if he'd made a huge mistake.

Maddie pulled an anti-ghost pistol from her belt. "You stay right where you are, ghost."

Danny put his hands in the air. "Woah, Mo—er—Maddie…it's okay." He forced a laugh. "I'm not gonna hurt you."

Jack too had a gun at the ready. "Did you say that to Neely and Petrinovich?"

"Like I told the cops, I didn't kill them."

"I don't see any other ghosts around here."

Danny looked at one parent, then the other, and sighed. They wouldn't listen—they never did—and if he didn't make his escape now, he'd be a blob of ectoplasm before he could blink. "Look, it _is_ safe down here. I'll try and figure out who the killer is, and—"

He saw Maddie shift her weight slightly, and leapt through the ceiling as she pulled the trigger.

* * *

A little whining was all it took for Gus to be granted his very own safe room, although the "room" was really more of an unused storage closet, and he'd had to annoy the hell out of Juliet, Lassiter and Shawn to get it. The point was, the closet was safe, and it was all his.

For the moment, at least.

Ghosts were tricky creatures. They could fly, contort their bodies, and even fire bolts of ectoplasm out of their hands, according to the Internet videos Gus had seen. Add the fact many of them were hundreds—even thousands—of years old, and you had one scary opponent.

But the scariest part by far was all ghosts—young, old, malevolent and benign—could walk through walls.

Gus had never considered ghosts a threat until today. Never before had he thought of their abilities in the context of an actual fight. But now, faced with the reality of their existence, he looked at each object in the storage closet and thought about how it would fare as a weapon.

A mop handle? Not bad—if the ghost didn't walk right through it.

A metal folding chair? Again, the ghost could just phase through and move in for the kill.

Gus checked the doorknob. Locked to the outside—but that didn't matter to a ghost, did it? He or she could even come through the floor or ceiling, if walking through locked doors and solid walls got old.

Dammit, was nowhere safe?

Gus backed into a corner and sank to the floor, fighting panic. If the ghost wanted in, it would come in. No 'if's, 'and's, or 'but's. No way of fighting back. Nothing he could do but sit there and wait, hoping the ghost wouldn't kill him. Scratch that—he'd take it like a man. He'd stand up to that ghost and tell him off. He'd—

A familiar white-haired teen backed into the storage room.

Gus choked on a scream, scarcely daring to move. If he didn't move or make a sound, the ghost wouldn't see him.

The white-haired boy glanced left, then right. Gus held his breath and closed his eyes as the boy turned his head. _Blend in with the shadows, Gus_, he told himself_, just blend in_.

It must have worked, because when Gus opened his eyes, the boy had turned away. Two rings of light encircled him, making their way up and down his form. When they vanished, Gus' jaw dropped.

The strangled cry was out of his mouth before he could stop it. Danny Fenton started and spun around. For a terrible second, they were frozen that way; Gus staring, open-mouthed, and Danny, pale and wide-eyed, moving his jaw up and down in an attempt to form words.

"You….you're…."

Danny finally managed to twitch his lips upward in a nervous smile. "H-hi, Gus."


	6. Chapter 6

_I am so sorry this chapter took so long. Deepest apologies to Turkeyhead987...I know I promised to have this chapter up in two weeks, and that was- what? six, seven weeks ago? Yeah...I lied. Sorry. :( _

_Thanks again to dragondancer123 for her beta work! _

* * *

The ghost kid—no, Danny—took a step forward. Gus shrank back against the wall.

"….Gus….don't freak out."

"I'm not freakin' out!"

"It's just me!"

Gus scrambled to his feet. "Yeah? And who might that be? Huh?"

"Danny Fenton."

"Is that your name? Or is that the kid you're possessing?"

Danny rolled his eyes. "It's called _overshadowing_, and I'm not doing that right now. I'm—" He broke off, glancing at the door. His hands were raised, as if surrendering something.

Gus blinked, curiosity edging through his fear. "You're what? What are you doing?"

"I'm…." Danny glanced behind him, dropping his voice to a whisper. "Someone's coming."

Gus heard footsteps approaching, heavy and insistent. He would know those footsteps anywhere, but would die before he tipped his hand to this kid.

Danny turned wide blue eyes on Gus. "Please," he whispered urgently, "don't tell them you saw me."

And with that, he vanished.

The tumblers in the lock clicked, Gus jumped when the door opened. Lassiter's frown deepened when he saw him, crouched in a corner, one arm raised as if to shield himself.

"Guster? What the hell's wrong with you? You look like you've seen a ghost."

* * *

Gus was sought out because Shawn, apparently, had found a lead in the case. Through the walk between closet and conference room, the griping never ceased.

"Says he's found a new lead, dug it out from under all the so-called 'evidence' we have. Puh. Spencer couldn't dig a lead out of a paper sack. A _wet _paper sack. Probably filled with some god-awful candy, knowing him."

Privately, Gus agreed with the detective, but didn't voice his thoughts. His encounter with Danny—or the ghost kid—whichever he was—left him trembling all over. As they rounded a corner, Lassiter glanced sideways—not quite over his shoulder, but enough to let Gus know he was being addressed.

"You all right, Guster? You haven't said a peep since I got you out of that closet."

"What? Who? Me?"

"I don't see any other 'Guster's around here."

Gus attempted a laugh, but it came out sounding like a raspberry. "Nah, I'm fine. Nothing weird going on over here."

The detective stopped long enough to give Gus a sideways look. His eyebrows furrowed, and he seemed to be inspecting every inch of Gus's face, searching for a clue to his strange behavior.

_Don't tell them…._

Gus didn't know much about ghosts—or ghosts who masqueraded as humans—but something about the way Danny had said those words made him wonder. Maybe he had a good reason for wanting his secret—whatever it was—kept. Maybe he was being hunted by all the hunters at the convention.

Or maybe he was a powerful ghost in disguise who could kill Gus if he breathed one word to the SBPD.

Finally, after what seemed an eternity, Lassiter turned, straightened his shoulders, and continued on his way. "Stupid conference. All this ghost talk is giving _me _the creeps. You know one of 'em asked me if I wanted to speak to my grandma?" He huffed. "As if I didn't hear enough nagging while she was _alive_, 'Carlton, wear a sweater. Carlton, eat your peas. Carlton, stop scrubbing the toilet with my fuzzy slippers'."

"Wait—what?"

Lassiter pretended not to hear. "Damn crazy, that's what these guys are…."

Gus let the rest of Lassiter's monologue wash over him like cold water over a paper cut. But the memory of what he'd seen tore at his throat, and it was all he could do to keep his mouth shut.

* * *

"Holothingies."

Juliet shook her head as if to clear it. "Holo_what_?"

"You know those… things that look like people, but aren't. They're not solid but look that way…."

"You mean holograms?" Lassiter offered.

"Yes! That's exactly what I mean!"

Lassiter slapped his palm against the table and stood. "That's it. I'm out."

Juliet caught his sleeve and pulled him back into his seat. "Come on, Carlton, at least hear him out." When her partner was sitting again, she turned to Shawn. "Seriously, Spencer? _That's_ your lead?"

"It's….not really a _lead_. More of a hunch. And, being psychic, I think it's safe to say my hunches are better than the average Joe's. Or Lassie's, in this case."

Lassiter leaned forward, lowering his voice. "I don't operate on _hunches, _Spencer, especially not ones as ridiculous as this!"

"Hey, at least I didn't say 'aliens'!"

"Maybe you should've!"

"Boys!" Juliet banged her fist on the table. "That's enough! Now, Shawn, would you please make this….hunch sound more, I don't know…."

"Believable?" Gus spoke for the first time, sliding into a seat near his friend. Shawn looked at him, and he looked away.

"Dude, something wrong?"

Gus shook his head. "Oh, nope. Everything's fine."

"He's been acting that way ever since I got him out of that closet."

"Maybe he's seen a ghost." Shawn laughed at his own joke, but Gus silenced him with a glare.

"_Maybe _I'm sick of this conference that _somebody _dragged me to against my will."

Shawn patted Gus's head. "Poor wittle Gussy. Scared of some ghosty whosties?" He sat back a bit. "Huh. That rhymed better than I thought it would."

"Can we _please_ get back on track?" Juliet said.

"All right, all right." Shawn threw his hands in the air, dropped them, and cleared his throat. "Jules. These ghost hunters have insane technology, right?"

"It _is_ more advanced than what most people use," she said slowly.

"So…what's to say they haven't developed the technology for those holothingies?"

"Spencer, McNabb's team has been over every display in the building, and they haven't seen anything _remotely_ similar to a hologram."

"Maybe they're hiding them from us," Shawn said with a shrug. "Because I strongly sense _somebody _is keeping a secret."

"Nobody's keeping a secret here, Shawn."

Shawn tapped his temple. "The psychic-ness doesn't lie, Gus. I sense it, it's happening."

Juliet rested her elbow on the table, digging her hand into her hair. "But….seriously, holograms? Could you be any more ridiculous?"

"I still could say aliens."

Lassiter stood and gripped the table with one hand, using the other to shake a finger in Shawn's face. "Listen, Spencer. I've half a mind to call the Chief and tell her you are making a mockery of this case."

"That'll be tough, since you didn't actually _hire _me."

"I can still have you arrested."

Shawn gave an incredulous laugh. "For what? Trying to help? Giving you a lead that _doesn't_ involve the undead?"

A knock cut off Lassiter's coming lecture. With a sigh, his hand hit the table. "O'Hara?"

Juliet rolled her eyes and opened the door.

"Hey, guys?" McNabb's dark hair was mussed, his eyes wide. "You're never going to believe this, but….The Fentons are gone. All of them."

Lassiter straightened; one hand rested on his pistol. "Well, where are they? How'd they get out of the building?"

"I…I don't know, Detective." He ran a hand through his hair. "They sank through the floor. Something pulled them down."

Gus looked at Shawn. Even he looked surprised.

"And you know the craziest part?" He sent a fear-filled glance over his shoulder and swallowed. "Right before Maddie Fenton disappeared, every ghost detector in the room started beeping."

* * *

Lassiter and Juliet emerged from the basement a few minutes later, Jack and Maddie Fenton in tow. Aside from Maddie's tight-pressed lips and Jack's slight limp, they appeared unharmed.

"Jack hit his shin on a packing crate," Maddie explained to the ghost hunters gathered in the conference room.

"It was the ghost kid! He threw it right in front of me!"

Maddie exhaled. "He didn't throw it at you, Jack, he didn't get anywhere near the crates!"

"Well, he knocked it down, anyhow."

Lassiter gave Jack a quizzical look. "Did he have white hair, green eyes, black lab suit with white gloves, about five-foot-six?"

"Who else would it be?" Jack sank into a metal folding chair with a sigh. "Maddie and I've been hunting that kid for years."

"Can you tell us where he went?"

Jack pointed at the ceiling. "I guess it'd be our floor. No telling where that ghost went after that."

Now it was Lassiter's turn to sigh. "If you ever learn where he vanished, could you let us know? He's our prime suspect."

"Figures. That ghost kid's always causing trouble—"

Suddenly, Maddie looked up. "Has anyone seen Danny?"

Ghost hunters glanced over their shoulders and behind friends, while the police officers' faces turned serious. McNabb stepped forward.

"We've been meaning to tell you, Mrs. Fenton….we haven't been able to find your son."

* * *

Filled with people, the convention center was easy to navigate. Either follow the crowds to the popular attractions, or duck around them for the more out-of-the-way lectures. If you got lost, you could always ask for directions from the first friendly face.

Empty, navigation was not so simple.

There must have been something about the crowd that made the convention center seem smaller, friendlier. Devoid of humanity, the massive center stretched out in all directions like a maze of conference rooms and twisting hallways. Danny tried to keep his bearings, but he couldn't remember where the lobby was, let alone the conference room where the ghost hunters were.

A quiet beeping caught his attention. Danny spun in a circle, searching for the source, but it seemed to come from all directions at once. Could it be? No—all the ghost detectors were crowded into one room, and that room was on lockdown. The police wouldn't let them out.

Although, there _were _the hunters he'd found in the bathrooms—Katie Petrinovich and the one in the lab coat. But after his gruesome find, wouldn't they keep all the hunters in one place to ensure no more were killed?

Danny dropped his invisibility and charged his ghost ray. The green light grew, hovering near his palm as he crouched down in a fighting stance.

"Where are you?" he cried. "Show yourself!"

An unfamiliar voice chuckled. "No need, thanks to you."

Danny whirled, searching for his pursuer, and his world went black.


End file.
